


Take Care Of Me

by sandwastesinthevoidofmychest



Category: Sherlock (TV)
Genre: Christmas Fluff, Christmas Smut, Established Relationship, M/M, Mistletoe, Protective Greg Lestrade, Tired Mycroft Holmes, do not copy to another site, they're so in love
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2021-01-10
Updated: 2021-01-10
Packaged: 2021-03-14 16:34:01
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 5,471
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/28673778
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/sandwastesinthevoidofmychest/pseuds/sandwastesinthevoidofmychest
Summary: It's Christmas Eve and Greg goes to Heathrow to welcome Mycroft back from Brussels. However, Mycroft's state of exhaustion has Greg determined to take care of him and make their first Christmas together memorable.
Relationships: Mycroft Holmes/Greg Lestrade, Mycroft Holmes/Lestrade
Comments: 10
Kudos: 141





	Take Care Of Me

**Author's Note:**

> Hello! I started this a few weeks before Christmas, with the plan to have it uploaded on Christmas day, but *gestures vaguely at the world around us*, y'know? 
> 
> Anyway, enjoy <3

Greg braces himself at the arrivals gate, Heathrow is swarming. 

It’s Christmas eve, and he’s watched on as whole families reunite. Children running at mothers and fathers, brothers and sisters. Adults in tears as they hug each other close. 

Long-distance partners sharing first kisses. 

Greg’s only been here an hour and already he’s seen hundreds of people happily reunited with those they love. It makes him feel lighter; he sees love all around him, there are no corpses here, no murders. It’s like a breath of fresh air after the week that he’s had. 

Maybe Hugh Grant was right when he made that speech in _Love Actually._ Thinking of Hugh Grant as prime minister makes him laugh, wholly certain that Mycroft would prefer him than their current buffoon in charge. Even if it was just to stare at. 

Thinking of Mycroft brings a smile to his face; the excitement that’s been under his skin all day. 

This year will be their first Christmas together as a couple, and Greg’s first in over twenty years not on duty. 

Mycroft’s been gone a fortnight, the longest time they’ve spent apart since they finally started seeing each other romantically. 

Greg looks at the arrivals board for what must be the hundredth time this evening. 

**Brussels: Landed 3m 19:17**

Greg’s heart skips a beat, _finally._ Mycroft’s flight was delayed leaving Brussels, and had missed their initial landing window in Heathrow. Greg can only imagine the frustration Mycroft must be feeling. In part, that’s one of the reasons he’s come to meet him. 

Anthea is aware that he’s here, but he hopes his presence is a welcome surprise for Mycroft. 

Greg watches the steady bursts of travellers coming out the arrival doors, coinciding with whichever plane has landed and gotten luggage sorted. 

He longs to see Mycroft walk through those doors. Longs to hold him close and feel him warm and alive against him. 

It’s been a horrid week, but Greg knows Mycroft’s presence will make it better.

The love he feels for Mycroft could eclipse the sun, it was nothing to sit stuck in Christmas traffic to Heathrow for hours because he knew he’d see Mycroft at the end of it. 

They had videocalled last night and Greg had been struck by how exhausted Mycroft looked. 

Perhaps the next few days alone, their first christmas together would save them in so many ways. 

Greg feels his phone vibrate with a text against his leg and he scrambles to fetch his phone from his pocket, heart rate soaring. 

_19:31] Just leaving baggage claim now, ETA 3 minutes. -A_

Greg’s heart skips a beat, he feels the smile appear on his face. Glancing up again at the arrivals door. He’s in the middle, directly across from the doors, but behind a barrier, so he wouldn't be able to immediately go to Mycroft, that just wouldn’t do. 

Greg manoeuvres through the crowds, hearing extracts of excited conversation. The love all around him makes him feel lighter, his excitement to see Mycroft even more prominent. 

Greg finds a perfect spot on the far edge of the crowd. This way he can still see the arrivals door and easily break away and walk directly towards Mycroft once he appears. 

Greg watches on as more people are reunited, his pulse drumming in his ears. A bunch of businessmen in suits emerging all at once has Greg certain that Mycroft will emerge soon. 

When Mycroft does appear, Greg’s heart stutters. He’s at Anthea’s side, both of them rolling suitcases beside them. 

Greg is immediately worried. Mycroft’s staring ahead, eyes distant. He’s clearly in his own world, but how he looks is what concerns Greg the most. 

The tension in Mycroft’s shoulders is evident, Greg feels a twinge in his own just looking at him. Mycroft is worryingly pale, and it’s emphasised further by the dark circles under his eyes. He looks like he hasn’t slept for the last two weeks. 

Greg feels distress just from looking at him, and immediately he breaks away from the crowd, walking towards Mycroft. 

Anthea spots Greg first, Mycroft still on another planet. She smiles tiredly at him, and it’s easy to see her obvious exhaustion too. 

Greg approaches Mycroft slowly, and when Mycroft’s eyes meet his, there’s a disbelief in them, as though he doesn’t quite believe it’s Greg in front of him. 

“Hello, darlin’. Missed you.” Greg says loud enough for only Mycroft to hear. 

Mycroft has always been a private person, and they rarely touch in public, so Greg is taken completely off-guard when Mycroft abandons his suitcase and surges forward into Greg’s arms. 

Greg wraps his arms around Mycroft, holding him close. Mycroft buries his head on Greg's shoulder, he feels Mycroft's lips against his neck. Mycroft is shaking in his arms. 

From the astounded look he receives from Anthea, who's now in charge of two suitcases tells Greg all he needs to know; Anthea had no idea there was something so significant wrong. Mycroft had hidden it from her, otherwise she would have let Greg know. 

"Hey, darlin', s'okay. I've got you." Greg kisses the top of Mycroft's head, holding him closer. 

He feels Mycroft let out a long, shaky breath against his neck, and when he raises his head, Greg can see it in Mycroft's tired eyes. 

_Take care of me._ _Please._

"Let's get out of here, go home. Yeah?" Greg murmurs, voice only loud enough for Mycroft to hear. 

Mycroft merely nods, stepping away but sliding his hand into Greg's, intertwining their fingers. 

Mycroft's hand is freezing. 

Greg takes Mycroft's suitcase from Anthea with his spare hand, and they share a worried look when Mycroft can't see. She still looks taken aback at the fact that Mycroft is the one who initiated the hand holding, even more so than the hug. 

Mycroft's driver is waiting by the car when they emerge, bypassing swarms of people reuniting. Passing by a particularly large group, Mycroft's hand tightens in his own. 

Charles takes their suitcases and places them away in the boot. Greg opens the door for Mycroft to slide in, and Mycroft still doesn't let go of Greg's hand, so he follows.

Mycroft presses the button for the privacy screen immediately, and Greg notices Anthea go to the front passenger seat. Greg had sat there talking to Charles on the way to Heathrow as they braved the traffic. 

Once the car door is shut behind them, Greg turns to Mycroft, who's sitting leaning against him. 

"Darlin'?" Greg murmurs, waiting for Mycroft to meet his gaze. 

Greg's relief that Mycroft is responding to his words is tainted by how pale Mycroft is, how the dark circles beneath his eyes stand out. Now that he can see him closer, his tired eyes are a little bloodshot. 

Greg immediately knows that all Mycroft's walls are down; the Mycroft on the video call last night had his guard up, clearly keeping himself together for long enough until he knew he was safe again. 

Greg is immediately guilty he didn't see it, but also knows Mycroft would have shut down any questions. 

"Two weeks was far too long away from you, Gregory." Mycroft's voice is rough and Greg is surprised by Mycroft's words. 

Greg wraps an arm around Mycroft's shoulders, pressing a gentle kiss to his cheek. Mycroft begins to shake again, only noticeable to Greg because he's holding the other man. 

"What happened?" Greg whispers, stomach in knots. 

Mycroft shakes his head, and for a second, Greg thinks that Mycroft is not going to tell him. 

"It was horrid, Gregory." Mycroft murmurs, closing his eyes, expression pained as though even the thoughts of his trip are giving him a headache. 

Greg holds Mycroft tighter, hearing a shaky sigh of relief in response. 

“I fear I have become too soft.” The words are quiet, the disappointment clear in Mycroft’s voice. 

Greg raises an eyebrow, waiting for Mycroft to see his disbelieving look. 

A gorgeous blush brightens up Mycroft’s pale features. “I’ve never been keen on touch,” Mycroft begins, eyes searching for Greg's. 

Greg only nods, understanding, waiting for him to continue. 

“I’ve lived decades without it.” Mycroft murmurs, “But this last year with you, Gregory...has been incandescent.” 

Greg can’t help the tears that come to his eyes, he knows Mycroft is not finished but he can’t help but press a gentle kiss to Mycroft’s forehead, hearing the other man inhale shakily. 

“After two weeks away, I feel touch-starved.” It’s quiet, like a confession. “Even the wind on my skin aches. Even the softest cotton of my shirts feel rough on my skin. I need your warmth, I need you, my love.” 

Greg gently caresses Mycroft’s cheek, hand steady and reassuring, feeling Mycroft shiver beneath his touch. “You’ve got me. I’m yours, darlin’. Body, heart, and soul.”

“Gregory.” Mycroft breathes, it sounds like a plea. 

“We’re going home, and I’ll look after you, ‘Kay?” Greg whispers, lips against Mycroft’s ear. “Just the two of us. First Christmas together.” 

Greg rejoices when he sees his words bring a hint of a smile to Mycroft’s lips. 

Mycroft ends up lying across the back seat, head resting on Greg’s thighs. Greg’s fingers gentle against his scalp, running through his hair as they stay stuck in traffic. 

Mycroft’s breathing is even, he’s less shaky, but Greg knows from the tension in his body that Mycroft is still wide awake. 

“Everyone who talked to me had ulterior motives.” Mycroft says, breaking the silence between them. “It was exhausting. How did I ever cope without you in my life constantly?” 

“Politicians are bastards.” Greg murmurs, fingers still stroking his scalp. 

“We’ve known each other for a decade.” Mycroft whispers, Greg hums in confirmation, proud that they got to this point in their lives. “Never once did you ever want anything from me, you never had ulterior motives...you cared about Sherlock, but more shockingly, you cared about me.”

“Still do, darlin’, so much. You became my closest friend, and my partner.” 

Greg feels Mycroft relax slightly, and gently caresses Mycroft’s jawline. 

“I love you, Myc. Let me take care of you.” Greg whispers. 

“Only you.” Mycroft breathes, taking Greg’s hand and pressing his lips to Greg’s knuckles. “Only ever you.” 

“Forever.” Greg promises. 

“Forever.” Mycroft echoes. 

Somehow Mycroft manages to drift off, head still in Greg’s lap. Greg continues running his hands through Mycroft’s hair. 

He smiles to himself when Charles turns onto their street in Kensington. He takes out his phone before waking Mycroft, using the app that connects to their plugs to switch on the Christmas lights, a surprise for Mycroft, who had not possessed even a Christmas mug before he left for Belgium. 

_Smart plugs, what next?_ Greg had asked in disbelief the day they were being installed, Mycroft had only rolled his eyes, a fond smile on his face. Greg had reacted similarly when they upgraded the heating to be functional with an app too.

But Greg had soon discovered the benefits: today being able to switch Christmas lights on before they arrived at the house, along with the heating. 

As Charles comes to a stop outside their townhouse, Greg gently brushes his hand over Mycroft’s shoulders, “Darlin’?” He murmurs, “Wake up, love. We’re home.” Mycroft shifts, groaning slightly. 

“Got a surprise for you.” Greg says, unable to hide the excitement in his voice. 

He helps Mycroft sit up, hands never leaving him, and almost immediately Mycroft seems to notice the unfamiliar lights from outside the tinted window. 

Wide eyes and a small gasp is the first reaction Greg gets, Mycroft’s stormy eyes move to his face, and he looks at Greg in wonder. 

“Gregory-“ 

“C’mon, more to show you inside, darlin’.” 

Mycroft still looks shocked as Greg helps him out of the car. 

Charles and Anthea don’t get out; clearly giving Greg and Mycroft privacy. Mycroft stands before the steps up to their dark green front door, head tilted so he can see the whole house as Greg fetches Mycroft’s suitcase from the boot. Once he closes it, Charles drives off. 

Greg makes his way to Mycroft’s side, and Mycroft looks at Greg with amazement, eyes shining. Akin to a child on Christmas morning, something that Greg knows Mycroft never had the chance to experience. 

“So?” Greg asks, somewhat nervously. 

Mycroft searches out Greg’s hand, intertwining their fingers. 

It’s all Greg needs. 

There’s a giant red bow on the front door, the two hanging baskets on either side of the door are now filled with poinsettias. All their windows are lined with soft white lights, the window to their sitting room shows off a shining Christmas tree. 

“You magnificent man.” There’s a hint of amazement in Mycroft’s voice as Greg slowly guides him up the steps to their front door. 

Greg unlocks the door, ushers Mycroft into the hallway, where the banisters are wrapped with a garland, intertwined with the same lights that frame the windows. 

Greg had gone for a delicate approach, same soft colour lights, a small array of ornaments, nothing overwhelming. Aware of the fact that Mycroft has never decorated for Christmas before. “C’mere.” Greg whispers, pulling Mycroft into a soft kiss, both of them sighing in relief when their lips touch. 

Mycroft clings to the back of Greg’s jacket, and Greg can feel him shake against him. 

“Wanna see the tree?” Greg asks, his eyes meeting Mycroft’s. Mycroft's grip on his jacket tightens for a few brief seconds before he nods and allows Greg to lead them into their living room. 

Immediately they’re greeted by the smell of pine. Greg watches as Mycroft inhales the unfamiliar smell. He’d gone with the real tree, for the more authentic experience. 

The soft white lights are wrapped carefully and evenly around the tree, a delicate silver star sits atop the tree. There are shiny red and green baubles and some plastic icicles hanging from the branches. 

Greg can’t help the grin on his face as Mycroft, still clinging to him, approaches the silver heart ornament sitting in the centre of the tree, facing them. 

Mycroft reaches out a shaking hand, brushing his hand against it, the tips of his fingers tracing the small engraving. 

_Mycroft & Greg, first Christmas together. _

There’s a picture of them both in the ornament; a shot taken by John at Sherlock’s birthday in January, a few days after they got together. In it, they only have eyes for each other, smiles clear on their faces. 

It’s still Greg’s screensaver. 

Mycroft still looks shocked to see all the small changes Greg has made in his absence. Another garland sits atop the fireplace, embedded with lights.

“It’s gorgeous.” Mycroft whispers, hand still clutching Greg’s. 

“Glad you think so, all for you, love.” Greg engulfs Mycroft in another hug. Kissing his cheek, at the touch Mycroft shivers again. “Let me take care of you.” 

Mycroft blinks at him, bites his bottom lip and nods, eyes shining with what could become tears. “Please.” He breathes. 

“C’mon then, darlin’.” Greg leads Mycroft upstairs and into their bedroom. The covers of the bed are turned down, and Greg relishes Mycroft’s huff of amusement when he sees the duvet has been changed to a Christmas themed one; sleighs and reindeer printed across the material.

Fairy lights are entwined with the ironwork in their headboard. A sprig of mistletoe hanging in the middle. 

Greg leads Mycroft into their en-suite, pausing to turn the taps on to fill the bath. 

Not once does he let go of Mycroft’s hand. 

Their towels are hanging on the towel warmer, their bathrobes on the back of the door. Mycroft seems to relax when he realises that both of them will be in the bath. 

Greg smiles reassuringly as he pours in a copious amount of lavender and camomile bath oil. They both breathe in the aroma and steam rises around them. 

Greg takes his phone from his pocket, makes the practiced movements to connect it to the Bluetooth speaker and puts a Frank Sinatra Christmas playlist on in the background before abandoning his phone by the sink. 

When he turns around to turn off the taps and attend to Mycroft, he sees a longing expression on Mycroft’s face. 

Greg steps in closer to him, slowly drawing him into a kiss. Mycroft responds by opening his mouth, tongue searching for Greg’s, hands fisted into Greg’s shirt. 

When their tongues meet; finally tasting each other for the first time in a fortnight, Mycroft shakes in Greg’s arms, but the sigh that leaves him, along with the tension is enough for Greg. 

Without breaking the kiss, Greg lets Mycroft take charge, let’s him taste and explore while he focuses on getting both of them undressed. 

A soft moan escapes Mycroft when Greg unbuttons his shirt, his hands resting over Mycroft’s heart. 

_Finally,_ skin against skin.

“Love you.” Greg murmurs between kisses, letting Mycroft’s jacket, waistcoat, and shirt fall to the tiled floor. 

“Need you.” Mycroft pleads, his long fingers suddenly clumsy on the buttons of Greg’s shirt. 

Greg takes both Mycroft’s hands in his own, bringing them both to his lips and kisses them gently. “Patience, love.” 

Greg leads Mycroft to sit on the edge of the bath, quickly ridding himself of his shirt, he kneels down to untie Mycroft’s shoes, humming in appreciation at the sock garters, which he takes off with a practiced skill. Greg trails his hands over Mycroft's calves, feeling Mycroft shake under his touch. 

"Any minute now, darlin'." Greg stands and holds out his hands to help Mycroft up, hearing a small whimper as he goes to unzip Mycroft's trousers. Mycroft reaches out for him, and Greg leans in to kiss him slowly. 

Once Mycroft has stepped out of his trousers and underwear, Greg quickly rids himself of his own. 

Mycroft holds his hand as Greg steps into the hot water, then joins him.

Greg sits down first, and Mycroft follows, sitting cradled in Greg’s arms, his back against Greg’s warm chest. The bath water a few inches from overflowing. 

Mycroft lets out a small sigh of relief, leaning his head back against Greg’s shoulder, eyes closed. 

Greg slowly and gently runs trails his hands up and down Mycroft’s chest. 

He mouths against Mycroft’s neck, soft, closed mouth kisses, left hand resting above Mycroft’s heart. 

Mycroft’s shaking lessens as the minutes pass, only the sound of their breathing and Frank Sinatra crooning carols around them.

Mycroft’s eyes stay closed as Greg presses his lips to Mycroft’s ear. “I love you, darlin’.” He whispers, holding Mycroft a little tighter. “So glad you’re home.”

Mycroft blinks, eyes adjusting to the light before they find Greg’s, a hint of a tired smile on his face. “I love you too, Gregory. You’re precious to me.”

Greg’s eyes fill with tears, overjoyed by how close they’ve become over the last few years. 

Their first kiss was on New Year’s Eve, which they spent together, just the two of them. 

By February, Greg had moved in with Mycroft, stating that they already spend most of their time there together anyway, that they both work so much any time together is treasured. 

Now their first Christmas together is here, their first anniversary too. 

Greg’s never been happier or more in love.

“How does touch feel now?” Greg whispers, aware of the bath water cooling. 

Mycroft hums, “Better, but not quite there yet.” 

“Wash up? Then food, I’ve made your favourite.” 

“Lemongrass chicken?” Greg smiles at the hopefulness in Mycroft’s voice.

Greg presses a kiss to Mycroft’s shoulder. “Mhmm. Wash your hair for you?” 

“Please.” 

Greg washes Mycroft with a soft sponge, showering him with kisses. There’s no urgency to their movements, no arousal to chase. Mycroft’s cock is flaccid, and any interest Greg’s own has in proceedings is ignored in favour of caring for Mycroft. 

He’s never failed to be amazed at how they can be like this together; so comfortable in each other’s nakedness. 

They make their way to the kitchen in nothing but their bathrobes, and Mycroft is content to sit at the island, hands cradling a mug of tea made by Greg as he watches Greg take out their dinner from the fridge, plating it and heating it up.

When it’s ready, they take their plates into the sitting room, TV on in the background and legs tangled together as they eat. 

After the dishwasher has been stacked, Mycroft draws Greg into a hug. Greg turns it into a kiss, slow and easy. Tenderness swells in his chest as he feels Mycroft relax into him, relieved that Mycroft doesn’t appear to be shaking anymore. 

“Take me to bed.” Mycroft breathes, resting his forehead against Greg’s. 

“Anything you want, darlin’.” 

“You. Only you.”

Greg intertwines their fingers, leading Mycroft to their bedroom. 

A little colour has come into Mycroft’s face, cheeks flushed, and Greg can’t help but smile at the vision before him. The fact that he is allowed to see Mycroft like this. 

Bedroom door shut behind them, Mycroft unties Greg’s bathrobe, letting it fall to the ground with his own. 

Greg can only smile at Mycroft like he put the stars in the sky. 

“You look exhausted, darlin’.” Greg murmurs, drawing Mycroft into a slow kiss. 

Mycroft looks at him, brows furrowed. “I...I found it difficult to sleep when you weren’t there.” 

“I’m here now.” Greg says, as he caresses Mycroft’s cheek. 

The look of pure relief on Mycroft’s face at his words makes Greg melt. He holds out his hand for Mycroft to take. 

“I need you.” Mycroft says quietly, meeting Greg’s gaze evenly. Pupils large, gaze full of longing. 

Greg intertwines their fingers, bringing their hands up to his lips to kiss. He leads Mycroft to their bed. “How do you want me, darlin’?”  
“Make love to me.” Mycroft murmurs, pressing his forehead against Greg’s. 

Greg watches the other man, the light of his life, and nods. 

He knows what those words mean, knows what Mycroft is asking for. 

_Slow, gentle, constant touch._

As they follow each other into bed, Greg catches Mycroft smiling in amusement at the bedcovers and Greg is so delighted that he thought to do this all for Mycroft.

After all, he would do anything to ensure Mycroft's happiness; the Christmas decorations had been a welcome idea.

Greg lies on his side, head held up by his hand as he watches Mycroft fetch the lube out of his bedside table, Mycroft's pale skin is flushed, and Greg can hear his breathing quicken. 

Christ, he loves this man so much. 

Mycroft rolls onto his side to face Greg, he smiles shyly and Greg's heart swells.

Mycroft briefly glances at the mistletoe hanging above them, then at Greg, a blush filling his cheeks. "I admit, I've never been kissed under the mistletoe before." 

"Hmm." Greg hums, fondness in his gaze. "Allow me to be the one who changes that?" 

Mycroft laughs softly, laughter lines pronounced at the corners of his eyes. 

"Be my guest, my love." 

Greg stares at him in awe, completely lovestruck. Leaning into Mycroft's space, he traces Mycroft's jawline with his fingers. 

Greg runs his thumb along the seam of Mycroft’s lip, feeling Mycroft exhale. Looking into Mycroft’s eyes, dark with arousal, Greg can’t help but smile. 

“Happy Christmas, darlin’.” He whispers, lips bare centimetres from Mycroft’s. 

There’s a happy hum from Mycroft as their lips meet, and Greg can feel Mycroft’s smile against his lips. 

They both sink into the familiar rhythm, Mycroft’s shaking hands cradling Greg’s face as they roll over so that Mycroft’s on his back, and Greg on top of him. 

Mycroft’s hands trail down Greg’s spine; long fingers leaving warmth in their wake. 

It feels like Mycroft is learning his body again. Greg’s so, so in love.

Their kiss deepens, Greg’s hands trailing through Mycroft’s hair, body soaking up Mycroft’s warmth; rejoicing in the feel of bare skin on skin. 

The hunger for Mycroft’s touch that he has craved for the last two weeks is being fed, and Greg can’t help but gasp as Mycroft raises his pelvis, allowing both their growing erections to brush against each other. The sensation sends sparks through his body. 

Greg feels the smile against his lips, the desperation in their kiss when Mycroft’s fingers dig into his arse cheeks, ensuring Greg stays where he is. Both of their hips moving, frotting gently against each other; the feeling so good that gasps become moans. 

Mycroft’s grip lessening on his arse is a silent plea for Greg to continue down his body. Greg reluctantly pulls away from Mycroft’s lips, immediately beginning to kiss down to his chin, trailing his lips down Mycroft’s neck, sucking at the junction between neck and shoulder; silently rejoicing in Mycroft’s full-body shiver along with a bone-shattering moan. 

Mycroft’s fingers pulling at Greg’s short hair urges him to continue. 

_Please._

Greg doesn’t need to be asked twice. He reacquaints himself with his lover’s body, lips trailing over the pale skin, tongue pressing against the galaxy of freckles that are scattered across Mycroft’s skin. 

Mycroft’s soft whimpers, his responsiveness make Greg almost painfully hard. 

By the time Greg reaches Mycroft’s cock, it’s dripping with precome onto his stomach. 

“Missed this.” Greg murmurs, giving Mycroft no time to reply before he takes Mycroft into his mouth. He revels in the familiar salty taste, hollows his cheeks and moans in pleasure. 

When Mycroft’s hand comes searching for Greg’s own, Greg meets his gaze as he intertwines their fingers, squeezing in reassurance. 

“Gregory-“ Mycroft whispers, voice shaking. 

“Hm?” Greg hums around Mycroft’s cock, feeling Mycroft shake beneath him at the sensation. 

“Close-please, want you.” Mycroft breathes. 

Greg slowly pulls off Mycroft’s cock, aware that Mycroft’s lack of coherency is a sure sign he’s close. 

Greg fetches the lube, and grabs a pillow to push under Mycroft’s hips. 

“Let me take care of you.” He says softly. 

“Please.” Mycroft begs, spreading his legs, allowing Greg to kneel between them. 

“Mhmm.” Greg hums, pressing a kiss on the inside of Mycroft’s thigh, warming the lube on his fingers. 

Slowly he spreads the lube over Mycroft’s hole, unable to hide his smile when Mycroft gasps beneath him. “Yeah?” He asks, as he presses a finger to the pucker, not quite breaching it yet. 

“Gregory, I swear- _oh!”_ Mycroft’s words are cut off by his moan as Greg presses a finger in. 

Greg leans up, kissing Mycroft slowly, gently as he moves his finger. 

Mycroft’s arms wrap around his shoulders tightly, keeping Greg close. 

When Greg’s made it up to three fingers, moving in tandem with Mycroft’s body, Mycroft breaks away from the kiss. His eyes wide and dark as he stares up into Greg’s eyes. 

_Please._

Greg doesn’t need to be asked, doesn’t wait for Mycroft to beg. He does exactly what Mycroft needs him to. 

Mycroft wraps his legs around Greg’s waist, watching intently as Greg slicks himself. Biting his lip as Greg lines up. Nodding once when Greg asks him silently if he’s ready. 

Their moans melt into each other as Greg pushes in, and Mycroft tugs Greg into a kiss as he gets used to the stretch, gets used to the perfect fullness. 

Mycroft’s legs are tight around Greg, pulling him in. Keeping him there. 

“Love you.” Greg breathes between kisses, when they’re both struggling to catch their breath. 

Mycroft smiles up at him, “And I you.” He whispers, before initiating another kiss. 

Greg had never seen a clearer definition of ‘starry-eyed’ until sex with Mycroft. 

His heart is full, he sips kisses From Mycroft’s lips. He starts to move slowly, trying not to focus too hard on Mycroft’s tight heat, and more on Mycroft. 

_Gentle, tender, connected._

Slow thrusts speed up, their kisses deepen, Mycroft’s arm reaches for his own cock between them, and there they are: completely lost in each other, the closest they can be. 

Together. 

“I’m so glad you’re back.” Greg murmurs later on, they’re back in bed, curled up with each other after a quick shared shower. 

Greg can hear Mycroft’s breathing deepen, his eyes are closed and he’s close to sleep and Greg can’t help but smile at the image in front of him. 

“Me too.” Mycroft mumbles, “Thank you.” 

Greg kisses Mycroft’s forehead, lips lingering for a few extra seconds. “You don’t need to thank me for anything, darlin’.” 

“You took care of me.” Mycroft replies simply, without opening his eyes. 

“Because I love you, Myc.” Greg whispers, “And I always will.” 

Greg watches Mycroft fall into a deep sleep, a gorgeous smile playing on his lips. 

Greg thinks about how Mycroft’s Christmas present is wrapped and ready in his bedside table, and finds the thought of sleep elusive. 

The fairy lights wrapped around their headboard are still on, and Greg watches Mycroft, face peaceful in sleep, and feels his heart stutter. 

“Night, darlin’.” Greg whispers, closing his eyes to the sound of church bells ringing in the distance to announce Christmas Day. 

Greg soon falls asleep, arms wrapped around Mycroft, their legs tangled under the bedsheets. 

Greg awakes to the press of lips across his shoulder, he opens his eyes slowly, blinking away sleep. 

Mycroft’s grey eyes are bright, and there’s a peaceful smile on his lips as he gazes lovingly at Greg.

“Good morning, my love.” Mycroft’s voice is rough with sleep, “Merry Christmas.” 

“C’mere.” Greg breathes, tugging Mycroft into a slow, gentle kiss. 

Mycroft smiles against his lips, his hand caressing Greg’s cheek. 

It’s soft and easy, full of love. 

Greg hums in surprise, reluctant to leave the kiss as Mycroft rolls him onto his back, straddling his thighs. 

When they break for breath, Mycroft rests his forehead against Greg’s. 

“I have a present for you, Gregory.” Mycroft sounds shy, and Greg’s heart melts. 

“I have one for you too.” Greg murmurs, drawing Mycroft into another kiss. 

“It’s in my suitcase.” Mycroft whispers, “Allow me to fetch it.”

“Mhm, your present is in my bedside table. I’ll get that too.” 

Greg sits up, watching Mycroft cross their room naked, to kneel down and unzip his suitcase. 

In turn, he fetches Mycroft’s present. It’s wrapped carefully in silver paper with glitter snowflakes.

Holding it in his hand, he watches Mycroft return with a present the same size as his own, though his is wrapped in red paper and tied with a golden ribbon. 

By the time Mycroft is back under the covers with him, he’s surprised Mycroft hasn’t said anything about Greg’s heart attempting to beat out of his chest, but perhaps the thudding Greg hears is just deafening in his own ears. 

Mycroft smiles at Greg shyly, cheeks tinted red as they swap presents. 

While Greg knows what’s in his box for Mycroft, he hazards a guess that despite Mycroft’s present being the same size, that it’s probably cufflinks. 

However, the thought doesn’t make him any less nervous. 

Mycroft raises an eyebrow when he sees Greg’s hand shaking, but Greg just nods towards Mycroft’s hands.

“Open up.” He whispers, watching as Mycroft carefully unwraps the box. He glances up curiously at Greg, who just nods for him to continue. 

Greg holds his breath as Mycroft opens the box, hears Mycroft’s gasp as he uncovers the plain silver ring. 

Greg rises to his knees, “Mycroft Holmes, will you marry me?” 

Mycroft reaches to touch the ring, eyes wide, he looks to Greg, “Please open my present to you.” Is all that Mycroft says, and if that shy smile wasn’t there, Greg’s pretty certain that his heart would be breaking into a million pieces right this second. 

Greg’s hands shake as he unwraps a wooden box. He feels rather than sees Mycroft raise to his knees like he did minutes ago. 

He glances up at Mycroft before opening the box and is met with a gentle nod to continue. 

When he sees an almost identical silver ring in his box, his head snaps up immediately to meet Mycroft’s gaze. “Is-“ 

“-Will you marry me, Gregory? Because I certainly will marry you.” Mycroft whispers, love and amusement written across his face. 

Greg can’t help but laugh, loud and joyful. “Yes, yes a million times, you magnificent man.” 

Mycroft reaches out to caress his cheek, “May I do the honour?” He whispers. 

Greg nods, holding out his left hand, they swap boxes again. 

Mycroft easily slips Greg’s ring onto Greg’s ring finger, smiling all the way. Greg leans in to kiss him, before taking Mycroft’s left hand, and gently sliding Mycroft’s ring onto his finger. 

Holding out their left hands to each other, they stare at their matching rings, then up at each other. 

“Merry Christmas, darlin’.” Greg smiles, tears of happiness in his eyes. 

“The first of many, my love.” Mycroft says softly, before pulling Greg in for a kiss.

**Author's Note:**

> I'm such an absolute sucker for those photos/videos/stories about couples who accidentally end up proposing on the same day 🥰
> 
> Twitter: @lostallsenseof1  
> tumblr: @lostallsenseofcontrol


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